


Hunting

by Rosehip



Series: Ceilidh Tabris saves the Damn World [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, POV First Person, POV Zevran Arainai, Suicidal Thoughts, meeting the warden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 03:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11797269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosehip/pseuds/Rosehip
Summary: The Grey Wardens are warriors without equal, so killing them would be no easy task. Foolish to want them slain; foolish to agree to slay them. So I agreed.What can I say, eh? I have my share of foolishness.





	Hunting

**Author's Note:**

> This is very old and I was still figuring out what I was doing. But I still like it. Enjoy!

 I had to get out of Antiva City. Oh, she was a lovely place, but now, every sad song the minstrels sang struck me like a mace, while the cheerful ones grated on my nerves. The flash of the sunset reminded me of the flash in a certain pair of eyes... but no, better not to dwell.

 Every other pair of eyes held bottomless malice. I had been watching every shadow, every second glance. Second-guessing every seemingly benevolent act. I am nothing, I had been told. Better to remove myself from the arms of such an untrustworthy lover, no? For so the city had become. Or perhaps you can trust a known enemy, for a certain value of “trust”. Ah, well. I could not trust my friends, certainly.

 To get away, I accepted the most foolish mission I had ever heard tell of. Everything about it bordered on absurd. The blight had begun in the kingdom of Ferelden. The Darkspawn erupted all over the south, and rapidly expanded to other areas at the behest of the archdemon nobody had yet seen. The Grey Wardens are the only people who can stop this, or so it is said. So it is passing strange that someone would want all the Grey Wardens dead, no? I am no scholar, sad to say, but this seemed not the wisest course of action to me. The Grey Wardens are warriors without equal, so killing them would be no easy task. Foolish to want them slain; foolish to agree to slay them. So I agreed.

 What can I say, eh? I have my share of foolishness.

 I packed my few belongings. I had decent blades, leather armor that would not make undue noise or impede my movements, some other clothing, my herbs and poisons. I had a little money. I never had very much, but I knew I couldn't possibly think to take on this job alone if I wished to be taken seriously. A country at civil war with no obvious leader and a horde of monsters bearing down on it should provide sellswords cheaply, at any rate.

 On my way to the docks, I passed through a market street. I had passed by it often, of course. But as I was leaving, I took note of everything as though with new eyes. A shop owned by a family of talented leatherworkers caught my attention. It always had. As usual, an assortment of fine, well made boots greeted passers-by. One of them in particular drew my attention. The stitching was perfect. They would last a lifetime; particularly my lifetime. I felt I could smell the newly polished hide through the very window. I had heard some say that you had best die in good shoes, for you must make your own way to the Maker. This thought almost persuaded me to go inside- but no. What would I need fine boots for? The Maker would not be happy to see me, surely.

 I could poison a spider with her own venom, so I could certainly poison a Grey Warden or two. I would not. I could also poison myself. I would not do that, either. I would not allow my enemies to see my destruction as their success. Let them think I had simply taken the wrong job, as we all eventually must.

 It _was_ the wrong job, of course. Any fool could see that. I could no longer live with my foolish self.

 

I arrived in the capital in good time. I saw many starving refugees on my way through the docks and warehouses. Some of the folk I saw in the palace probably didn't even know that was happening. The guards murmured and grumbled about their duties as they do everywhere. Some of the nobles clearly had cares of their own. 

The elven servants, on the other hand, knew a great deal. I would stake my worthless life on it. Their lot is never an easy one, but now, I saw the exhaustion that a recent overabundance of problems had etched upon them. I made no attempt to blend in with them, however, and they were far too mistrusting to let anything drop where I could catch it.

 When at last I arrived to the audience chamber where I met the contact, I knew that he was also aware of the country's problems. This was a man who had not slept well in weeks. He'd not probably smiled in years, if ever. To my surprise, his official bootlicker had called me in. Nevertheless, Loghain agreed to send me out to rid the country of its few remaining Grey Wardens, and I hastily left. I didn't even ask for further information regarding my targets. I could find it out easily enough. I did not like the atmosphere in that room, truth to tell. That bootlicker- he could handle politics in Antiva, I'm sure of it. Better not to attract any more of his notice.

 

I loitered in tavern after tavern, and on streetcorner after streetcorner. I looked like many of the opportunistic mercenaries who were about, gathering information as well. In this way I learned many things. Evidently, the mages in the circle tower had all become demons or some nonsense. An uprising had caused the local nobles to close off the Alienage. (I found that strange. City dwelling elves in my experience are not quick to rebel.) The Grey Wardens had been responsible for the king's death... and their own?! I guess that explained why I was here; if such a tale could be believed. I guessed that it really did not matter.

The common folk seemed to have a more reliable idea where the darkspawn had been seen; almost everywhere but here, it turns out. Some guardsmen in a whorehouse passed around drawn likenesses of my targets. I stood to “tip the minstrel in the corner” and took a look at the posters on my way back to my seat. My targets appeared to be a wide eyed but muscular looking human fellow and a brown-haired elven lass with a prominent (and possibly broken once?) nose and a wicked, angry look about her. 

“That's the one to look out for, you ask me.” said one guardsman before he belched loudly and smacked a waitress on the rear. (I could have told him that this is not how you attract a lover, but never mind.)

 “What, that little thing? You can't handle yourself against an elf girl?” argued another. “And I do mean girl. What is she, twelve? I heard she just joined, too. Might not be as tough as Wardens're supposed to be.”

 “Ah, you just got here with Arl Howe's people, though. You weren't here _before_.” His voice lowered, but not so much that I couldn't hear him. “That's the one wot killed _everyone_ in Arl Urien's estate a while back...”

 “Shhhhh!” scolded a third. “You want everybody to think Denerim guards can't handle themselves against an elf child? Besides, that whole mess sounds like it's better left in the past, you ask me. Bad business, that.”

 Well, _that_ was interesting. Perhaps this pertained to the elven uprising I'd heard about. If she had killed first an arl's household, and then the king, she would most likely head for the secretive Dalish to seek sanctuary. They might even offer it, if she were as good as these fellows believed. I seemed to be the only one to think so, however, and I did not share my thoughts. 

 

I set off for the most likely forested lands immediately. I stopped at inns frequently. The ones I could afford (and who would accept the coin of an elf) offered little privacy, but plenty of pests. In this way I heard tell of the assorted bands of travelers. Many were just refugees or merchants, by their descriptions. Just Northeast of the Brecilian forest outskirts, I found what I was looking for. 

Two lovely serving girls gathered water from a common well outside one wayside inn. “Did you see that group came by here the other day?” asked a slender, black haired one. 

“Oh, the giant, the dog who nearly talks, the half naked Chasind, the Orlesian priest with a crossbow, the nobleman, and his pet elf?” laughed the plump, ginger haired girl with her. “Can't say as I did!”

 “Oh, you may laugh, but did you notice anything peculiar about that elf?”

 “Well, she'd bathed recently and was wearin' armor, of all things,” mocked the redhead. “If that gentleman feels safe armin' a knife ear, then more power to 'im. Must be all right with a blade himself, I say. He looked it.”

 “I think you've got it wrong who was who's pet. That elf has bathed more recently than your 'nobleman', for one thing. And she was tellin' everybody else what to do. But you're missin' somethin' obvious. The man and the elf- they both had weapons of Gray Warden make.”

 “How do you even know that? Also, why in the world would anyone carry those, with everyone sayin' they killed the king?” 

“Most people probly don't recognize it. I only did because I had a great uncle in the order back when more of 'em were around. We have a few of his things in the attic. So anyway, I was curious and passed by the fellow's room later that night...” 

The redhead crossed her arms and smirked. “Just by chance, I spose?” 

“Course not. But if you say anythin', I'll deny it. He may not have bathed recently, but he was all right beyond that. Wasn't in the mood to let me help him with a bath. Pity.” She shook her head sadly, but with a smirk. “Anyway they were planning their course. They'll head into the Brecilian near the whitewater creek. I don't expect anybody who lives _there_ will care about a couple of Wardens.” 

Well, then. My job just got a lot easier. It did make one wonder, though. Hadn't they heard that the gold on their heads would tempt many a desperate man? Or didn't they care? Perhaps they were looking for trouble? It was about to find them. 

 

I avoided signs of Dalish habitation. I had no wish to be shot for trespassing before I made contact with my targets. That would just be embarrassing, and was not the death I had chosen. Now that I knew what to look for, I could also see signs of my marks. Nearby to, but outside the territory of, a wandering Dalish tribe, I found the most obvious clue. A pony cart, a dog, and the largest feet I had ever seen had made tracks to a nearby clearing. I silently traced their steps, and came across a strange sight indeed. Sure enough, there stood a giant. He threw a stick to a mabari nearly as tall as myself. A dwarf was organizing crates in the back of the cart, while a younger dwarf was- Maker, was the boy enchanting that sword in his lap? Why yes, he was. “Well,” I thought to myself, “I guess that's what dwarfs do.”

 Tents and supplies for at least four more people littered the campsite. The rest of them would return, then. The camp was situated out of sight of the main road, but with easy access to it. “Aha, I said to myself, I know which way they will go, then.” I crept away to prepare my trap. 

 

The band of obvious cut-throats I'd passed on the road before hadn't made very good time. A fair human woman of middle years with a devilish grin led them. 

“Val, what in Thedas is there to smile about? We've no work and few prospects, except that one thing, and how'm I sposed to get you-know-what from you-know-whose office anyw-” 

“Oh, you just let me worry about that, Devin. I've still got some contacts there.” 

I stood at the side of the road, and met the gaze of the woman, Val, as they neared me. I hazarded a guess that if I nodded and allowed my coinpurse to jingle, she'd get the right idea. 

She did, but I had had to sweeten the deal with... more personal coin to buy the services of the band. I may as well enjoy myself, thought I, as I applied the skills I had acquired in my early days. A few of the sellswords were well pleased with Antivan sensual massage, and I knew that on the off-chance I would need their services for more than this one job, I could persuade them. (It was very unlikely, however, that I would be able to avail myself of this. Anyone sensible would run.) 

 

The next day found us all crouched in ambush over the road out of the Brecilian. Val, who had magical skills, dressed herself as a commoner, and played the role of bait. Her henchmen laid explosive traps to protect the archers, and I set up a tree to collapse upon the road. I was rather proud of that one, to be honest. I could never pull this off, but it would be a glorious battle, no? 

Before midday came Val, running back along the road, the devil grin peeking out across her face oncemore. Some of the odd band I had heard tell of came behind her, unable to see her expression. The male human Warden wore new made Ironbark armor and a resolute look on his face. The young woman wore much older plate, also of elvish make. She looked to be spoiling for a fight. I could practically see the aura of menace around her. A redheaded human woman told the others to hurry in an Orlesian accent- but this was no priest, I would stake a great deal on that. Interesting. The wild looking beauty taking up the rear concerned me a great deal. She bore watching. That branch she carried was a magic staff, of that I was sure. Perhaps she should be my first target. 

I signaled Devin to cut the ropes holding the tree, as I threatened the band: “The Grey Wardens die here!” I launched myself forward, ready to bleed that mage as quickly as I could, but to my surprise, the lady warden expertly tumbled (in platemail?!) out of the way of the tree I had thought might pin her, and came directly for me. There was nothing for it; she would have to be my target. 

We had studied very similar fighting styles. She handled herself with grace, despite her strange armor. The Dalish blades she bore whirled furiously around me. I began to grin in spite of myself. Was this not the challenge I had sought? The allies on both sides ignored us completely. The fierce woman returned my grin. She bore heavier blades than I, but I had more precision. I found her armor's weaknesses, and hurt her more than once. Me, however, she skewered mercilessly. Oh, the battle was the glory for which I had hoped. She wore me down. I saw the inevitability of her victory, but she would remember me. It was enough. As I landed a last strike to her side, her sword crashed upon my head, and the last thing I heard over the world exploding was her surprisingly chipper and amused voice calling out “Hah! Too bad for you!” Then the darkness embraced me, and I plunged toward it with relief. 

 

But I awoke to an armored hand slapping me. A surprise, that. My ears rang, my vision swam, my stomach rebelled, and I could taste distilled elfroot on my tongue. “Oh, damn”, thought I. “The battle is over and someone healed me.” I tried to raise myself up, and a groan escaped me, for I could not. I felt, in addition to altogether too many cuts and bruises, the ropes binding my arms tightly to my sides, my wrists together, and my ankles as well. My side did not win, of course. I had hoped for a quick death in battle against a worthy opponent, but evidently I would receive no such thing. 

Val was a mage, yes, but the dark-haired, wild beauty was alarming. And she was staring down at me with a knowing smile at that moment, as was the young warden, who crouched above me. Probably the warden who woke me, then. The tall fellow had his hand on his sword, and the Orlesian looked on with curiosity. Was that-? Yes, she had a lute on her back beside her bow. Perhaps I'd make it into a song, anyway. 

“I rather expected to wake up dead, or not wake up at all, as the case may be...” I began. (Like my unfortunately honorable hirelings, whom I could see scattered around me. Sigh.) 

“I have some questions,” said the brown-haired, elven warden in a pleasant voice. She sounded as though she just meant to ask directions or invite me over for tea. However, she had also grabbed my hair with her right hand and rested her dagger along the back of my ear with her left. I could feel a small slice and trickle of blood. Damn... she'd never done this before if she began with _that._ I could thwart, if not survive, such an inexperienced interrogator but just then I didn't feel like I should bother. I had no interest in concealing anything this woman would likely ask about, anyway. As I had said to the Wardens just now, I had not expected to find myself in this position, but a plan rapidly formed in my head, much to my surprise. 

“Ah, so I am to be interrogated, then?” I replied. “Let me save you some time and get right to the point. My name is Zevran, Zev to my friends, and I was sent here by the Antivan Crows for the express purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens. A task I have failed at, sadly.” 

“Not so sad for us.” The lass removed her dagger from my ear, and leaned back, thankfully. I would prefer to keep my ears, were I alive or otherwise. 

“I would be happy in your shoes, I imagine,” I replied. “For me, however, it sets a very poor precedent. Getting captured by a target seems a tad detrimental to one's budding assassin career.” 

She gave a small smile and raised her eyebrows. “Too bad for you, then.” 

“Yes, it's true. Too bad for me.” 

She took a breath and squared her shoulders. “So, what are the Antivan Crows?” 

“Oh! I know this one!” inserted the red haired minstrel. “They are an order of assassins out of Antiva. They have a reputation for always getting the job done, so to speak. They are very costly to hire, and quite infamous.” 

The warden turned to her companion with a surprised expression. “Not for being good assassins, I see.”

 Ouch. “Is that the way in Ferelden? You mock your prisoners?” 

She turned back to me with something of a sheepish expression. “You're right, I'm sorry. That wasn't necessary.” The witch and the man both rolled their eyes at her apology, caught the gesture in eachother, and stopped. Hmmm.

 “I guess I would've figured that out about the assassins in a minute,” she continued. “Ask a silly question. So, here's a less silly question, who sent you after us?” 

“A rather taciturn fellow in the capital,” I replied. “Loghain, I think his name was. Yes, that's it.”

 “No, that's still a pretty silly question”, added the human warden. “It would be him, wouldn't it.”

 “I suppose so,” replied the lass. “OK, but how did you find us? Does he know where we are?”

 “Not to my knowledge,” said I. “You've left a trail that I could follow, but this man did not tell me where to begin. I began with a guess, to be honest. And before you ask, I did not share your whereabouts with anyone who is not here.”

 “Why does Loghain want us dead, anyway?” The Warden's voice rose in well worn exasperation. Her muscles twitched and I suspected she was stopping herself from pacing. “I mean, we know about a huge wrong he committed, but nobody has believed us anyway when we've tried to tell anyone. And I don't even know why he did _that._ ”

 Several things fell into place. “He killed the king, I suppose?”

 Both Wardens looked at me with obvious astonishment. “How did you know that?” The man asked, narrowing his eyes.

 “The rumors about you defy credibility. It is obvious that the stories have been... deprived of several details, yes? Those who are used to looking for such things can see the shapes that have been cut out.” I wished I could shrug. “But to return to the lady's original question, until now I had no idea what his issues were with you. But you threaten his power, yes?” 

“We wouldn't be if he hadn't started it,” the man replied. “Were you to see him again, to receive payment or something? And how much are we worth, anyway?” 

“No, that was not part of the plan. I was not paid anything, but the Crows were already paid quite handsomely. I was to kill you, and then move on to my next job, or fail and die in the attempt. That second part is not optional in the event of failure. No need to see Loghain then, either way.”

 “Are any more of you coming?” asked the lady Warden.

 “When last I heard, no other had signed on for this. My associates were merely hired help.”

 “Obviously,” agreed the minstrel.

 “So you don't really have any loyalty to your employers?” asked the Warden, thoughtfully.

 There was an opening if ever I had seen one. I had one chance to reclaim my life. Whatever my despair, looking someone in the face and daring them to kill me twice in one day was more than I could manage. “Loyalty is an interesting concept, one we can discuss further, if you've no more questions for me.”

 “Sure. Why not?”

 “I failed to kill you so my life is forfeit. That's how it works. Even if I were to succeed at this point, the Crows might kill me on principle for failing to kill you the first time. Thing is, I like living. “ _Or I used to._ “And to be honest, I had never very much choice regarding joining the Crows. They bought me young, and I was a bargain too, or so I am led to believe. I have paid my worth back to them plus tenfold, by now. Still, the only way to leave is to sign on with someone they can't touch. Killing you is very hard, yes? They will assume I am dead for a time, and should it come to light that I am not, well, they will still have a difficult time finding someone willing to come after you. I know their wily ways, and if someone were to try with a more sophisticated attempt, I will be able to warn you of it.”

 The lady warden folded her arms and looked at me as if I had grown leaves. “You want to. Join. Us. I...see? What skills do you have?” 

“My skill with blades, you saw. I am also an expert poisoner. I can pick locks, and I can be very stealthy when I am not dropping trees on people. I will also cook or polish armor, if you like. Or stand around and look pretty, if you prefer. Keep away unwanted suitors? Warm your bed, perhaps.” Old habits die hard, no? 

She looked away, and cleared her throat. Promising. “That's a good list. What would you want in return?”

 “Being allowed to live would be nice...”

 “Oh. Right.” 

“...and it would make me marginally more useful to you. I will also require your protection should the crows realize I still live, which they will soon. But if at some time my service is no longer desired, then release me from it and I will go.” 

I could see by her face that she wondered what had possessed me. I wondered that too, I must admit. Why did I want to live so badly, all of the sudden? I did not know, but I had to try. The more I spoke of this the more I liked the idea. I needed a new life were I to go on living at all. 

My hope lay with the lady Warden and the Orlesian archer. I was no person at all to the witch, and the man looked at me like something disgusting on his boot. Pity, he would be quite attractive without such an expression.

 The leader stared down at me. I met her gaze, and waited.

 “All right.” she said. “We do need help, that's true. And I can kick your ass, but most of the darkspawn we've met would be less lucky. If you're coming with us, I'll fight with you against your enemies. That ought to go without saying.”

 “What, we're taking the ASSASSIN with us now?” gasped the male Warden.

 “Why the surprise?” asked the witch. “She's kept you. That said, I do wonder about this.” She turned to the lady warden and continued “I would examine your food and drink far more closely, were I you.”

 “That's excellent advice for anyone!” I replied. What? It is, you know.

 “An Antivan Crow could indeed be useful,” mused the red haired minstrel.

 I have never known when to cease talking, and smiled up at her. “I am happy to have the support of such a lovely traveler as yourself...”

 “Or maybe not.” She grumbled, crossing her arms. Brasca. Now was not the time to offend her. I could do that later when it would be less dangerous.

 The man was not done arguing. “Loghain sent him, by his own admission! We can't trust him. He'll betray us the first chance he gets, can't you see that?”

 “Alistair, you heard him. 'Bought', he said. It doesn't sound like he had a lot of options. I know what that's like. If you want him dead, you'll have to do it.”

 Was this not what I expected? I met his eyes and resigned myself to it. The man began to draw his sword, and then slid it home again. He averted his eyes from mine. I released my breath, quietly. Hm. I hadn't realized I'd been holding it. “No,” he said. “Fine. He can stay. But if there was ever a sign we were desperate, I think it just knocked on the door and said hello.”

 The lady Warden lunged with her wicked elven dagger (which still bore a few ribbons of my blood) then, and I wondered for a second if she had merely been toying with me. She was not. With a few quick motions, she cut my ropes loose.

 “You could have just untied those, you know.” I said, as I stood, with her help; ignoring the pain in my limbs and the momentary spinning in my brain. I think I shook a little, anyway. Definite concussion, yes. “I could have waited.”

 “Nah, dramatic gestures are worth a little rope. I'm Ceilidh Tabris,” she smiled, still clasping my hand. I could see the poster had been a lie, or at least a half truth. This woman was fierce, and undoubtedly a very bad enemy, but she also seemed to have a good nature, and had a unique beauty to boot. She was younger than myself, but no child. The Denerim guards had obviously fallen prey to the line of thinking that if you are short you are also young. She did in fact have a prominent and once broken nose, but she was not Dalish. Elves from the city had occasion to suffer many injuries. She had green eyes, framed by dark brows. Her long, brown hair was wreathed by a twist of braids. Her skin spoke of mixed ancestry, and was perhaps a touch lighter than my own. If I had to belong to somebody, I could do worse. I had done worse. I had no illusions, she absolutely owned me. I had not planned to live, but now that I had, there was nowhere else to go.

 “I pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation. This, I swear.” And I raised her gauntleted hand to kiss.

 Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the witch's aloof disinterest, the minstrel's amusement, and the other Warden's anger, laced with worry. Hmmmm. There was one to watch. Oh yes. I could not fault the fellow for his caution, but I was relieved in that moment that he didn't seem to be the one in charge. What can I say? My survival instincts had emerged. 

The Warden began to hand me my weapons, then reconsidered. Would she keep me unarmed for a time? I began an objection. She hadn't found the dagger I keep under my clothes at the small of my back or the poison packets in my boots, so I was not completely defenseless; but that is not the point. I needed to help defend us as well. She drew a blade from the pack she had dropped on the ground. It crackled with lightning, and was superior to my own blade. She turned and presented it to me.

 “Its name is Oathkeeper, and I think you should use it for now. You can have your pick of the daggers. I'm the only other prson here who uses them.”

 Not a subtle one, she. 

“Huh.” mused the argumentative man. “You decide to keep an assassin, free him, and then arm him better. Deathwish, or confidence?” 

“Practicality,” she shrugged. “Now he can help us move the tree out of the road.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know Zev doesn't know “what his issues are with you”, but based on his astute observations throughout the rest of the game, it seems like the sort of thing he could put together fairly easily.


End file.
